


Cream of the Crop

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Milking, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Jaskier teaches the Wolf Witchers the fun of an extended night of pleasure. Featuring prostate milking with unusual kitchen implements.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 18
Kudos: 289





	Cream of the Crop

**Author's Note:**

> I blame this entirely on the Bards of Geraskier discord. But technically, it was a line from [my own fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118671) that inspired this: “Too bad witcher cum doesn’t sell for anything.”

So, it turned out that the Wolf Witchers had a side business to help pay for the upkeep of Kaer Morhen. They sold moisturizers and balms that were “entirely organic and handmade by witchers”.

Jaskier had to laugh at that. The “hand” part of handmade made sense when he had discovered that the prime ingredient was witcher cum.

Yeah, Jaskier hadn’t been expecting that either. Nor was he expecting the sheer _inefficiency_ of their current system.

“So you just...jerk it into a cup?” Jaskier asked dubiously. 

Geralt crossed his arms and if witchers could blush, he’d be tomato red. Eskel was leaning against Geralt’s hunched form, a slight smirk to his lips. Apparently, _his_ products sold best. Because these dorks kept track of that kind of thing.

Lambert, being Lambert, sipped his beer, belched, and then shrugged, “maybe use a pot if it’s been a while.” 

Jaskier cocked his eyebrow, wondering if maybe the witchers were pulling one over on him, but Eskel nodded seriously. “It’s the mutagens. We, uh, _produce_ more than a standard human. And it’s different.”

“No one realized that ‘different’ could mean ‘profitable’, until Monsterfucker here,” Lambert gestured at Eskel. “A succubus propositioned him for a ‘sample’,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Turns out, she wanted it for a haircare potion.”

Jaskier just blinked at him. He’d expected a lot of things when Geralt invited him to Kaer Morhen this winter, but this? When he’d asked what Vesemir had meant when he reminded the boys not to ‘forget their nightly chore’, this had been nowhere _near_ the realm of possibilities he’d considered.

But Jaskier was nothing if not flexible. So witchers sold their cum as a beauty product? He could roll with this.

“Okay, but really, you come as quickly as you can once a night and call it good?” He crossed his arms and frowned down at the three Witchers. “That’s so inefficient! You can produce more than that!” He uncrossed his arms just to flail them for emphasis.

Not that it mattered, because they just stared blankly at him. “What?”

“Even a human can come multiple times a night, with the right coaxing.” Jaskier leered, recalling some choice memories of the time he’d been edged for a week and then milked dry. He’d passed out from sheer pleasure and woken up two days later to discover his partner had robbed him blind. 

It had totally been worth it.

He didn’t have the time to edge them for days – not _yet,_ at least. But he could at least show them how pleasurable their nightly duty could be.

“I bet you I can milk you all dry by dawn,” Jaskier challenged.

Lambert cocked an eyebrow. “Dawn, huh?”

“Why the fuck not,” Eskel shrugged.

All Geralt said was, “hmm,” but Jaskier knew him well enough to tell it was an affirmative grunt.

“Then get undressed, and I’ll go find a bowl.”

––

The witchers’ eyes grew wide the when they saw the bowls Jaskier set before them. 

“That’s _huge!”_ Lambert’s voice hit an octave Jaskier hadn’t been aware he was capable of.

“And you’ll fill it to the brim,” Jaskier said confidently. “But first,” he held up three long leather strips, “we can’t have you wasting any. Because I intend to show you what long, extended pleasure coming _should_ be.”

He tied the leather securely around each of their cocks, looped around their balls. Then he ordered each of them on their hands and knees over the a bowl.

“You’re in luck. I found some _useful_ tools to use on you. Which is good, because I only have two hands, and I intend to to keep my promise to all of you.” Jaskier looked over his array of tools – a chef’s knife with a nice wide base, a rolling pin with long handles, and a heavy pestle – and debated who should get what.

He didn’t play favorites, but Geralt was definitely his favorite. The White Wolf would probably get off on being taken by a knife, too. Lambert, Jaskier had no doubt, was just as much of a bratty asshole when he was being fucked, so maybe the rolling pin would suit. Since he’d only be using the handle, having a nice long shaft to use might be nice. Jaskier could think of all sorts of ways he could angle it to punish Lambert when he needed it. Which left the pestle for Eskel. 

He started with Geralt, holding the flat of the blade carefully as he oiled the hilt. Then he placed his hand gently on Geralt’s hip and pressed the hilt into Geralt. Geralt gasped sharply, then braced his weight against his hands and pushed back into the knife.

“Good,” Jaskier murmured and Geralt shivered. “Now wait while I take care of the rest of you wolves.”

“Dibs,” Lambert said, and just for that, Jaskier chose Eskel to prepare next.

The scarred witcher smirked at Lambert, but it was quickly lost when Jaskier steadily pushed the pestle into him, twisting his wrist until he was pressing against that spot inside Eskel that made precum drip into his bowl. 

“Very good,” Jaskier praised, accidentally sparking a competition between the witchers.

“Bet I can make more than you,” Lambert said.

Geralt scoffed. “Yeah right.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Behave. You’ll _all_ fill your bowls full by the time I’m done with you.”

He smacked Lambert’s left asscheek in punishment and smirked at the way the witcher jerked forward with a strangled moan. He swatted again, just to make his cheeks a lovely, matching red, then Jaskier spread Lambert’s ass and thrust the handle of the rolling pin steadily into him.

Even with the toys, he would have to juggle a bit to maintain a regular massage against that special spot to milk each of them. Still, he was looking forward to hearing what kinds of noises these witchers could make.

They were still restrained as the first dribbles of precum spattered into the bowls, but they didn’t remain that way for long.

By the time they’d each filled about a quarter of their bowls, the room echoed with whimpers and wet sounds and grunting, growling moans. 

Eskel had gotten a hang of things himself, reaching back to push the pestle into himself in steady rolls. He was open mouthed and drooling against the floor, eyes rolling up into his head as his chest rumbled in a continuous groan.

Geralt, delightfully, was extremely sensitive. He couldn’t take Jaskier pressing too hard against him, so Jaskier was careful to keep everything _just_ on the right side of too much. High, whimpering whines fell from Geralt’s mouth at every tiny movement, but the witcher continually flexed his hips back into the pressure.

Unlike his compatriots, Lambert was completely silent. But that didn’t mean he was unaffected. The opposite, in fact – he’d slowly gotten quieter and quieter as the other two had grown louder and louder, but his body was trembling so much, Jaskier was half-afraid he would shake himself apart. 

He rotated his wrist, brushing the rolling pin against that spot inside Lambert, making the witcher gasp and shudder. His arms gave out as he filled the bowl nearly halfway, and Lambert crossed them and buried his wet face as he thrust rapidly back against Jaskier’s hold.

Eskel was begging in a low growly whisper, mindless and uncontrolled as he kept pressing the pestle against himself. Jaskier saw him glance over to see how full the other witcher’s bowls were before pressing harder and he huffed to himself.

Geralt propped himself on his elbows and gripped his own hair, pulling roughly as desperate sobs spilled from his mouth. His bowl was slightly fuller than the other two’s, but while the others’ cocks leaked in steady streams, Geralt’s pulsed in regular spurts that were slowly dwindling.

Jaskier wasn’t worried. By now, they surely understood the appeal of a drawn out evening, but Jaskier was also doing this for a purpose. The witchers had a company to run, and Jaskier had promised three full bowls. He would deliver, and he knew his witchers had it in them.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I putting off working on my 25 WiPs by starting new fics every day? Yes, yes I am.


End file.
